“And is this where I’ll sit?” says the girl, approaching the witness stand.
She is 12, on the verge of 13, with long limbs and a small voice. She wears red sneakers and barrettes clipped to her blond pageboy hair.
“Yes,” Lori Fluegel says. The assistant Jackson County prosecutor, dressed in a formidable black suit, her tumble of blond hair swept high, offers Jessica a reassuring smile.
But, inside, the 42-year-old lawyer is deeply worried. The trial of the man accused of raping Jessica in her own bedroom when she was 9 years old is set to begin in a couple of days.
Without Jessica’s testimony, there is no trial. The man will walk free.
Even now, Fluegel doesn’t know how or if Jessica will be able to endure the strain. As the trial has drawn closer, Jessica has threatened suicide.
The counselors at her group home became so concerned they moved her to be watched at a children’s mental facility.
And just minutes ago, Fluegel watched as Jessica’s mood and mind dissociated, all but drifted away, during a two-hour deposition. It was an ordeal: question after question by the defense. Exhausted, Jessica fidgeted. Her voice grew distant. She laid her head flat on the table as she gave answers so confused and riddled with inconsistencies that Fluegel knows the defense will hammer it at trial with full force.
“It’s a cold seat,” Jessica says.
The girl laughs, a bit surprised. She settles into the brown leather and spins the chair side to side like it’s a stool at a soda fountain.
Fluegel smiles at her again. In this single moment there is nothing she wants more than to bring Jessica justice.
For 13 of her 18 years in the Jackson County prosecutor’s office, Fluegel has been trying child sex crimes — longer and more continuously than any of her colleagues. In that time, reports of suspected child sexual abuse in the county have more than doubled, although the number of substantiated cases has been declining steeply, as it has nationwide.
Still, in all her years, Fluegel has rarely met a child as truly alone as Jessica. No family. No friends. No real home anymore. And everyone who was supposed to protect her didn’t just fail, they hurt her. Neglectful. Craven. Heaven knows, not one of them ever fought for her.
“This is where the jury will sit,” Fluegel says.
She wants Jessica to feel comfortable.
“There will be 12 of them!” Jessica says.
“Maybe more,” Fluegel says. “Maybe some alternates.”
She needs Jessica to be ready and understand what lies ahead. A legal minefield. Of all the major crimes that prosecutors handle — fraud, burglary, murder — none, lawyers say, can be as precarious, grueling or as difficult to prosecute as child sexual crime.
“The judge will be here,” Fluegel points out.
“Oh, I’ll be sitting next to the judge!” Jessica chirps.
“You will probably be testifying first.”
Fluegel already knows there’s no “probably” about it. When the trial begins, Jessica will, indeed, be the first and most crucial witness in front of the jury. Fluegel waits for Jessica’s reaction. It’s tentative.
“OK,” Jessica says.
While it’s one thing to agree to testify, Fluegel knows it’s a totally different story when a child, who may already be severely emotionally disturbed, is asked to take the stand and reveal the details of sexual abuse in front of a judge, lawyers and a jury full of strangers.
To reach Eric Adler, call 816-234-4431 or send e-mail to eadler@kcstar.com.
@Nyx.CommentBody@